Quintessentially Q

But every time I dropped into the dark, the wolverines were there. Mauling me, gnawing on my arms and ankles, they drained me of blood, turning me into leather.

Distant voices came and went, broken conversations. Sounds of engines and dreaded transport taking me further and further from Q.

Q appeared in my catatonic state. “I’m coming for you, esclave. Keep fighting. Wait for me.”

Hope dazzled through me, waking me up, giving me something to latch on to.

“So you do care.”

He leaned over me, his eyes full of pain and guilt. “Of course I care. You’re my gravity. I’ll find you. I’m coming.” Q’s voice resonated in my body, warming me from the bone-deep chill I suffered.

Images of his home, the conservatory with all his birds, filled my mind, granting me a reprieve from horror for too short awhile.

Then sleep grabbed me with its sharp-tipped claws, dragging me back to the wolverines.

*****

The next time I woke, I could move my arms. The heavy cloud of blackness dissipated, letting little rays of myself shine through.

The strength and will to survive returned slowly, quietly—meek and timid. I didn’t want anyone to know I no longer lived in limbo.

I held my breath for eons, making sure I was alone. Every time I opened my eyes either Leather Jacket or an unknown trafficker pierced my skin and drowned out my tentative awakening with drugs.

My gaze went wobbly, trying to focus on the room around me. I couldn’t distinguish anything and random thoughts kept distracting me.

What would the walls taste like if I licked them?

What sound would the floor make if an elephant jumped up and down?

I shut my eyes, trying to get control of my haywire brain. I hated drugs. I’d never used substances in my life. Never dabbled with marijuana or sampled something harder. Now I knew why. Control: drugs took away control, granted nightmares and hallucinations. They spaced me out, stole time and my wits.

My mind turned rogue, hurtling me back to hell—making me forget how to fight, how to care. It turned Q into a monster. One moment he cared for me, the next he left me to the den of snapping wolverines.

He came for me when I was raped. He’ll come again.

I wasn’t an idiot. Of course, Q would try. But he would fail.

With no way of tracking me, he would lose the trail quickly. I had to give it to Leather Jacket. I’d never been on so many airplanes as I had in the last few days.

I had no clue how long we travelled. Time ceased to have meaning. I vaguely remembered being carried, engines whirring, tyres squealing. I slept in cellars, and dungeons, only to wake up shivering and cracked out of my mind.

Starving, dehydrated, it was only a matter of time before my body gave out. In fact, it was the fifth time they injected me when I got sick.

The drugs couldn’t hide the racking shivers as a fever wrapped its false blanket around me. Nor could it compete with the wacko visions that now plagued when I was awake.

I shivered and ached and wished to God I could see a doctor.

My brain felt squished inside a skull full of cement and fog, my mouth parched drier than a desert, and my heart thumped, heavy and broken.

Noise came from behind me; I snapped my eyes closed.

“Wake up, puta. We’re finally home.” Leather Jacket grabbed my arm and hauled me off whatever I lay on. My body, so useless after days of lying inert, slid off the platform and sprawled at his feet.

I bit my tongue at the impact, wincing as blood trickled down my throat. Hunger pangs tore into my stomach, growling loudly. Trembles from hunger spread through my limbs, adding to the shakes from my fever.

My tongue stopped bleeding, but a sickness rose in me, and I ached for more of the warm metallic. It was the first thing I’d tasted in days—it was beyond delicious to my perishing body. The blood reminded me of Q. I missed him. Needed him. So much.

Leather Jacket kicked me, just for sport. “You like that? Do ya?” He kicked me again, growling. “Get to your f**king feet. I’m not a taxi. Get your sorry ass walking.”

A wracking cough jangled my ribs, sending me gasping for breath. Fiery pain from his kick radiated outward like a bomb.

I tried to move, I really did, but I was a useless body with no life.

“Move!” Leather Jacket kicked my leg; I cried out.

Oh God, I can’t move.

A peculiar calm fell over me, relaxing my trembling muscles. I slumped into a further drug-messed puddle and refused to obey. After fighting so hard in Mexico, after surviving Q and the rape, I had nothing left to give. No matter how hard I fought, or how much I refused to give in—it was never enough. So why bother?

Is this it, Tess? You’re just going to give up?

“Oi, bitch!” Leather Jacket kicked me again.

I moaned, cursing him to hell, but I still didn’t move to obey. If he killed me from sheer rage, so be it. I wouldn’t walk to my own demise. I wouldn’t put myself through that again.

“I’ll break your neck if you don’t get up right now, slut.” He ogled me, his boot raised, ready to deliver his promise.

“Get up, esclave! Give me time to find you before being reckless with your life. Your life belongs to me, no one else.” Q manifested in my feverish brain and I groaned.

I didn’t want a pep talk from my cracked-out subconscious. I just wanted to lie there and give up.

“Lève toi!” Get up. Q leaned down and brushed tangled hair from my cheeks. His face contorted with grief, darkened with sorrow. “Please, Tess.” His pleading wrenched my heart, and I moved.

I moved on my own.

Leather Jacket chuckled. “Didn’t like the thought of a broken neck, did you, slut.” He crossed his arms, watching my slow progress as I pushed off from the ground.

Lack of food tore my stomach, the fever rattled my teeth, but I bore through it all to stand upright for the first time in days. The drugs receded, not that it made a difference to my swimming head.

“I did this for you, Q. Don’t make me regret it. Find me.”

Wobbling, coughing, I stood as tall as I could, but the bruises from his kicks kept me hunched. The pride in the small victory blazed bright, giving me courage that I could fight. That I could battle against the drugs and win.

Leather Jacket smirked. “Not so hard to obey, is it?” He pulled out a dog collar from his pocket, and with calloused fingers secured it around my neck. His vile fingers deliberately squeezed the buckle one notch too tight. I struggled to swallow.

I didn’t move a muscle, or let my face portray my hatred for him. I nursed my anger like a small flame, coaxing it to flare brighter, ready to explode.

I let him believe he owned me. All in the name of self-preservation.

“Good dog. Time to go and meet your new master.” He attached a chain to the collar and yanked me forward. I stumbled, following him from whatever mode of transport we’d been in—a large black van with no decals—and entered muggy night air.

I looked around greedily, imprinting as many details as possible.

Water lapping. A harbour. Bright lights in the distance. The reek of fish and salt. The balmy weather suggested somewhere tropical, and my heart curled in terror at the thought I might be back in Mexico.

If you are, who cares, Tess. It doesn’t matter where you are because you’ll be leaving soon.

You’re a survivor and today is not the day you give in.

*****

That was yesterday.

Today was entirely different.

I awoke to an ocean of icy water. It came from nowhere, drenching me, causing Q’s pale shirt to cling to my rapidly depleting curves.

Gasping with shock, I sat up, scooting to the end of the pallet. My eyes darted around the cell—dank, freezing, reeking of dried fish.

Three goons stood staring, raping me with their heinous eyes.

Whatever sickness I’d contracted had evolved into a full-blown attack last night. My skin burned, my throat felt like I’d swallowed a bunch of machetes, and my lungs wheezed with every breath. I couldn’t stop coughing every few minutes, and I was hungry. So hungry.

Leather Jacket stood to the side of his troop of traffickers, holding an empty bucket. “You awake now, bitch?”

Trying not to show my fear, I swiped my face free of excess water and wrung my hair out. I swear steam curled off my skin thanks to my fever. I coughed hard, smashing my hands against my mouth in the hopes of keeping my lungs in my body.

Once my coughing fit subsided, Leather Jacket muttered, “It’s that time of day. Guess what that is?” He tossed the bucket into the corner, putting his hands on his hips. When I didn’t answer, he gloated. “The answer is f**king time for your medicine.”

He nodded at the two next to him, and they rushed forward.

No! Not again.

I cried out, scurrying backward, pressing against the freezing cold wall. I wanted to burrow my way through the concrete and run. Oh, how I wanted to run.

Four large hands dragged me down the bed and pinned me to the hard surface. “No!” A cough exploded out of my mouth, and every inch pounded like one giant headache. Bile rose in my throat even though I had nothing in my stomach to reject.

With no reserves and a wasting frame, I knew I didn’t stand a chance, but I couldn’t let them drug me again without a fight.